


Even If It Costs Me My Life

by ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Guilt, Heavy Angst, I wrote this in 2018 after seeing Infinity War, Natasha is the supportive sweetie, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), This is basically Tony dealing with Peter's dusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy/pseuds/ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy
Summary: After arriving on Earth and semi-recovering from his ordeal with the Mad Titan, Tony visits Aunt May to deliver the news regarding her nephew. He pledges to make things right...no matter the cost.[I wrote this in 2018 right after seeing Infinity War. I didn't post it until now (oops).]





	Even If It Costs Me My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,   
> I am posting this while I'm at the vet and they have internet! 
> 
> I wrote this one-shot on April 27, 2018 after getting home from seeing Infinity War. I was distraught and depressed...and I ended up writing this in 7 hours. I finished at midnight. I let this work sit for a year before deciding to have it beta-ed before I posted it. I saw Endgame nearly 2 weeks ago and I was wrecked. Anyway, enjoy the sadness and major amount of angst. 
> 
> Secondly, here's an AMAZING thank you to my beta, who fixed all of my errors.

> "I'd give anything to hear  
> You say it one more time  
> That the universe was made  
> Just to be seen by my eyes."  
>     -Saturn by Sleeping at Last
> 
>  

 

 

 

    The kid should stayed on the bus. He _should_ have…stayed on Earth. But what difference would it have made? The ending would have been the same no matter what happened. The kid would’ve still been the same pile of damn dust. His world had been torn down like a crumbling coliseum. He was astonished on how quickly such a thing occurred and how…useless he had been to prevent such a terrible thing from happening. He was a goddamn Avenger. Wasn’t that his job? His fucking job. He had barely stayed conscious during his ride back to Earth with the blue android, named Nebula, whose attitude was…probably just as bad as his. The painful throbbing of his wound had served as nearly a gruesome reminder of what had occurred on Titian and it only worsened as his mind replayed the events that took place on the foreign soils. Denial braced heavily on him, along with the presence of guilt that pressed down his spirit, determined to hear the shattering of his soul as he splintered into thousands of pieces. He doesn’t remember the last time he had felt so…numb. His emotions were overloaded with the two main signals of remorse and self-hatred that failed to feel anything else. He had lost…the Avengers had failed. There was the first time for everything, but damn, he had never imagined that such a thing would ever come to pass.

    His fingers twitch and fidget as he climbs the stairs that lead up to the Parker Residence. He’s lost count on how many times he’s walked up these flights of steps and he remembers each scenario like it was yesterday. But never in a million years had he ever dreamed that he’d be here to reveal the ugly truth of what had occurred to the boy who had once lived here. An Avenger used to live here and jog up and down this very staircase. Tony extends a shaky hand, allowing his fingers to grace the aged paint of the walls that accompany him on his journey. Each footfall of his is a faint echo of the pain of his wound that still hadn’t healed. At any instant, he is sure that the vulnerable scab could easily crack and he’ll be submerged on the brink of death again. His surroundings are nearly silent as if the whole building is in a state of mourning for the life it had once housed; sheltered within its very core.

    There’s the distant resonating boom of speakers from one of the rooms that belong to the landing he currently finds himself on. It’s obnoxious, but he can’t find the strength to muster the essence of annoyance. His mind is currently elsewhere and it’s pulling him towards the next set of stairs. In a matter of short seconds, he’s climbing again, but each step he takes feels weighted as if his legs have suddenly turned to pieces of lead. He feels like a shell; empty and destroyed of whatever once remained inside. There is nothing left of him anymore, for his own nature has been forced under the waters of a turbulent sea that already swallowed him whole. Within the overpowering currents, he’s lost and drowning in his dishonor and depression.

    Withdrawing a shaky hand from the pockets of his jeans, Tony knocks on the door of his destination. He swallows heavily against the lump that had formed within his throat and he cannot find the will to create the ideas of what he will voice. This is an outcome that he could have never predicted and maybe, he should have been prepared. A breath hitches in his throat as the stone of the fault seems to grow heavier within his gut. God, he feels like he’s going to be sick on his own misconduct. The sound of the lock disengaging makes him flinch and soon the door is opened. The familiar features of May Parker meet his eyes. Her glasses are slightly askew and normally, he’d make some comment to kick start an engaging conversation about her nephew’s successful future. But he cannot find that side of him. Not anymore.

    He instantly takes note of her worried expression as she observes with quiet bloodshot eyes and he can already tell that she’s been restless. She hasn’t been sleeping and he can infer that Aunt May had spent countless hours checking various news reports and calling the school, determined to discover the fate of where her beloved boy was. The moment of silence continues as Tony forcefully avoids her gaze, like a child who knows they’ve done something terribly wrong and is too afraid to admit it.

    “Mr. Stark?”

    His heart sinks. A meltdown threatens to overtake him and he simply bites it down before pushing past her and into the confines of the apartment. Nothing’s really changed since his last visit.

    It still smells and appears the same. The walls are still home to several framed photos of a smiling (or laughing) Aunt May with the kid. The atmosphere is different. It feels colder and it’s eerily quiet. It sets his nerves on edge in a rather unpleasant manner. There’s a crucial piece that’s missing and Tony knows the element that is absent. It pains to recognize this silence and it only adds to the fuel of the guilt that resides so powerfully within him.

    He strides into the living room, only to stop short. The world seems to halt for a moment, allowing him to take in the surroundings and reflect on the memories that still live here. A news report plays on the television and it’s clear that the Earth is in chaos. No one is quite sure what happened and why the planet is so empty…but he’s familiar with the reason why. He almost wishes that he isn’t. He feels as if he’d be more satisfied with not knowing anything about what had lead to this result.

    Aunt May mutes the cable box and clears her throat to speak. “Do you want me to get you anything? Maybe water?”

    She never used to show this much concern for his well-being, but it must be that something tells her that he is not himself at the moment. He can’t stand to look at her, for if he even dared to catch a glimpse of her, he’s afraid that every ounce of resistance will come crashing through like water bursting through a dam. He keeps his back to her with his head held slightly lowered and he knows that this is rude, but he can’t help it. “No,” his answer is a whisper and silence settles. She didn’t hear him; her head cocks to the side slightly.

    Since when on God’s green earth, has Tony Stark been so quiet…so frightened by the outcome of his words?! He normally speaks his mind.

    “No thank you,” he repeats, raising his voice slightly before he settles himself onto the couch. A flare of sudden pain racks his body, causing a groan to sound from him. Instinctively, one of his hands comes to rest upon the area of his wounds and for an instance, he believes he feels the phantom sensation of blood beneath his own fingers. The television is shut off and he can hear the faint sound of the remote being set down onto the table. He feels her gaze as if it had been one of Rogers’ suspicious glares that have the capability of stopping anyone’s smart mouth, except Stark’s (of course).

    “What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?” Aunt May crosses her arms across her chest with a heavy exhale. “If you’re looking for Peter, I’m afraid he’s not home.”

    That name. That name.

    The single designation tickles at his barriers, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

* * *

 

  _“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”_

    The words bounce off the very interior surface of his cranium. The memory flickers back like an old projector that refuses to be silent. His left-hand clenches his fingers and he ignores how the brace digs into his skin.

  _“I don’t know what’s happening…”_

  _He can feel the weight of Peter’s body against his own as Tony managed to catch the boy, who had lost his footing on the ground. This Purgatory is never going to release him. “I don’t want to go…please…”_

* * *

 

    “Stark, you have you seen him?” She must have taken the silence as a hint or something. “You’ve seen Peter?” Aunt May takes a seat beside him and he exhales before attempting to find his balance again. Raising his eyes to her, he manages a slight nod, followed by a weak, “I have.”

    His face carries the very nature of destruction and the desolation of his soul. His dark brown optics are dimmed and slightly glossed over as if he isn’t entirely present in the moment. “Where’s he?”

    The eagerness in her single inquiry tugs harshly as his gut, like the string to a kite. He doesn’t want to answer. He wishes he isn’t here, but Steve had ensured him that is the right thing to do. Even Tony’s return to the open arms of most of the teammates had not been enough to fix him. Hugs weren’t going to erase what had been done.

    “May,” he situates himself, turning his war-ravaged body to her and locking his eyes with hers. “I have something to tell you and I need you to listen closely.”

    He’s afraid of what is to follow. He doesn’t know what to expect when he’s finished. Will she literally throw him out to sink into her own pit of sorrow? He’s thinking too much, and this is one of the times when he wishes his brain could shut up.

    Aunt May is now giving him her full attention, with her form tense and attentive and worried eyes peering through her glasses. The nature reminds him of an owl.

    “I-I…uh,” the sentence dies like a stalling engine that finally gives up. His fingers nervously interlace with each other and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears with the steady beat of his heart. He tries again, “I’ve come to tell you that,” his voice waivers and he’s forcing himself to stay together. To stay solid. “Peter,” his pitch breaks as his tongue forms the name. “isn’t coming home.”

    There. He has said it. The very statement he had been dreading and cannot come to grasp within his own terms. His mind struggles to find the handles on the truth that slips just outreach. He watches as his announcement settles in and he can see every burst of emotion threading through the cracks in May’s persona. She’s breaking. Her sob rattles his core, “What’d you mean?”

    She doesn’t want to believe it, but he knows that she must. His hands are shaking as he raises them. He can feel the echoing touch of Peter’s very ashes against his palms before they’re torn away from him by the gust of wind. “He was among those who were turned to dust. I…I had him in my arms and he just…vanished. I’m sorry...”

  _“I’m sorry.”_

    It is then, in that instant, when a silent scream tears itself free from May’s throat. There’s not a single ounce of her voice and once she takes another breath, it’s like her lungs hitch and struggle intake the very oxygen that’s provided. Her body is soon quaking like a trillion earthquakes are currently trembling within her. She pitches forward and Tony becomes her support. She’s a wreck with her sobs audible and piercing like daggers into his soul. He threatens to shatter, right then and there, in the confines of the home of the kid he had mentored. The boy who looked up to him and wanted to be like him; who saw him as a role model. A **FUCKING** role model.

    He allows himself to grasp onto her as May is overwhelmed by the massive amount of sorrow and despair that destroys her. His eyes water and he can feel tears tickling at the edges of his vision, threatening to spill and create a river that’ll accompany May’s. She clutches his shoulders in a rather desperate attempt to feel for something human around her. He’s barely keeping himself composed. His chin that’s resting on May’s shaking shoulder, is quivering. Every ounce of control seems to be escaping him at a rapid pace and he’s unable to keep up.

    Look at him, the Earth’s Greatest Defender has officially been crushed. He wishes that he had died on Titan; that the blade had run through his heart, rather than his side. What is the point? Why the hell…no, why the **FUCK** did Strange save his life? Tony didn’t _see_ the objective…and he is sure that he never will.

    “I swear to you,” a tear trickles down his cheek. He has to contain himself. At least…for a bit longer. “I will avenge his death. I will fight until my last breath and I will not stop until Peter is avenged. I will and I promise you that I will bring justice to him, even if it costs me my life.” He attempts to sound stronger than that he currently feels, but his confidence has all but dwindled. He’s tearing apart at the seams, slowly but surely, he’s going to become crashing down, caving in on to himself without any restraint to hold him back. It’s inevitable, but a part of him is determined to secure his broken edges as best as it can.

* * *

   It’s not until he’s outside of the door when he finally allows himself to break. Control slips through his fingers like soap and whatever supports he had to properly reinforce him finally ruptures. Strength vanishes from his legs as if his appendages had been made of Jell-O and his back hits the wall with a soft thud. Finally, he’s spilling, letting loose a flood of emotions that had been bottled up within him for too long, assuming that this is the other half of the blunt that failed to be released as soon as he returned to Wakanda.

    He’s unable to find an ounce of domination over the grief and he’s given up on trying to contain it. There’s no use in even attempting. He knows he’s not strong enough. Then again, how can he be? He couldn’t even keep Peter alive. What kind of person is he for failing to protect the one boy who had willingly placed himself in his charge? Damn Stark, you’re a fool to think that everything was going to be fine, his brain shoots at him and Tony allows his eyes to close.

    Tears streak his cheeks freely now and he pulls one of his knees close to his chest, ignoring the slight complaint from his wound that pulses in irritation. It’s all but a twinge of discomfort that he can’t exactly feel at the moment. His nervous system is numb and he would kill for weeks at a bar. Drink away his failures and worries like the sorry son of a bitch he used to be. What options does he have now? What more does he have to lose?

    Lowering his head, a shaky breath floods from his lungs and he rests an elbow against his raised leg. The fingers of his braced hand touch his forehead and he willingly leans into his own touch as a tremor vibrates through him with a quieted sob.

    Failure has never been an option in his life and he’s always the one to test boundaries and to break records; to exceed expectations and discover new fantastic outcomes to wow the minds of many. He should be feeling the great need for revenge…but he fails to place his finger on the sensation. His core is empty of inspiration and all he can feel is the lasting emptiness that has consumed him. He’s lost, Peter…and Pepper.

 

    There’s nothing left for him here. Natasha takes Tony’s silence as a hint as she shuttles the Quinjet out of New York City. For once, he’s thankful for her silence and he remains in the rear of the transportation, seated on the floor (rather than in one of the seats) with his spine propped up against the wall for support. The soft roar of the engines is the only sound that is audible within the atmosphere, but all he can hear is his jumbling thoughts that toss an obscene amount of blame and hatred towards himself. He couldn’t…save Peter. What good is a hero that can’t save anyone?

    He recounts his words that he had said to Aunt May with his lips moving but no sound escaping them, “I will avenge his death. I will fight until my last breath and I will not stop until Peter is avenged. I will and I promise you that I will bring justice to him, even if it costs me my life.”

    If there’s anything he’s been decently good at, it’s keeping a vow.

**_FUCK IT._ **

    He slams his hand against the wall with a clang, ignoring the spike of pain it causes his left hand. Natasha glances back at him with a look of worry filling her features. Her cropped, almost white hair seems to be glowing in the reflection of the sun. “If you keep doing that, your hand is never going to heal.” He remembers just how many times it’s been injured and at the given reality, he really can’t give two shits if he ends up shattering every bone in the body just to feel **_SOMETHING_** other than this plague of remorse. “Sorry,” he manages and it sounds like an apology more to her than it is to himself.

    “We’ll fix everything, put it back to the way it used to be.” He almost laughs at her attempt to encourage him.

    “How can you be so sure?” The sentence is laced with a snarl that he hadn’t involuntarily meant and he retreats as if to apologize for his sudden tone.

    “I have faith and hope.”

    “Yeah? And I had _fucking_ faith and damn hope that we’d succeed sooner.”

    There’s an exhale from the assassin and Tony can tell that she’s struggling to find the words to properly voice her opinions without coming off as too offensive. He’s already been through enough…they all have.

    “I promised…May that’ll do everything in my power to avenge Peter’s death,” his words are a whisper upon the breeze now and it sounds so painfully helpless.

    “And…are you sure you’re prepared to uphold that vow?”

    “I’m not sure, but all I do know is that if I do, I’ll fight until my last breath. I owe Peter and Pepper that even if it costs me my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on writing some more little oneshots so stay tuned. Please leave kuddos and reviews; as you all know, reviews and kuddos are an author's fuel (besides coffee).


End file.
